Castle of Glass
by on-the-hermitage-of-turtles
Summary: He aimed for the glass castle and got the glass menagerie instead. FrUK
1. Once upon a time: Prologue

**A/N: **Okay so...this is the short prologue type thing of a much larger story I've had bouncing around in my head all summer and I've finally convinced myself to just go ahead with it. I'm sorry it's so sappy and terrible. I haven't really dipped my pen in the whole writing thing in a while. Anyway...I hope you like it anyway!

* * *

"It was in the instant their lips met that Arthur knew it would never be okay. He was leaving, moving back to England in a week. And now…now their friendship was effectively ruined. Although he had to admit that this new thing taking its place was much _much_ nicer. Tongues exploring each other's mouths, learning what it is they should do, hands wandering, groping, grasping. Oh yes, much nicer…

But no, _no…this was goodbye._

They finally broke the kiss, Arthur looked at Francis noticing everything, his mussed up (yet somehow still perfectly done so) hair and kiss bruised lips and his eyes so deep and blue and warm and real. Arthur felt the heat rise up in his cheeks.

_'Beautiful boy…what have you done to me?'_

"Francis," he spoke his voice barely above a whisper. He kissed the French boy again and kissed a path from his mouth to his ear and spoke again, "make love to me."

Francis pulled back his blue eyes widened in surprise, "Are you sure?" Green eyes met blue and Arthur nodded in reply. He pulled him in for another kiss and slowly lowered the two of them onto the bed.

In years to come, Arthur will remember a lot of things about this night. The sights, smells, sounds and new sensations, the smell of Francis' hair and the rustling of the sheets. How at first he shivered in anticipation and then he was warm. And when it was over, he buried his face in the crook of Francis' neck and cried because as nice as this new thing was, this new thing…it was over and it would never be the same again.

Arthur hated goodbyes.


	2. There was a boy: Ch 1

**A/N: **Okay so...the more I write for this story the more I hate myself because it's terrible and not what I have envisioned. I am however, determined to finish it just so I can say that I have finished a story and I will rewrite it someday and make it good. Anyway, here it is!

**Disclaimer: **I forgot to do this last time but yeah...I do not own Hetalia.

* * *

A guy's night hadn't seemed too terrible an idea. He could use a night out he supposed, it had been a while since he'd done so. He and his friends had agreed that tonight was long overdue but he found himself enjoying it much less that he had in his younger years. He found himself growing bored listening to Gilbert's latest escapades in the dating world. His mid began to drift and his eyes began to wander around the room.

The sight of a familiar unkempt mess of straw blonde hair and he remembered swing sets and a fairy garden. A little boy who had actions so much like those of a rabbit it earned him a nickname, "Oh petite lapin, you're so silly!"

"Stop calling me that you stupid frog!" Blushing crimson. A stolen kiss under the apple tree in the backyard of his childhood home. And then…eyes green like peridot under a set of rather impressive eyebrows and he remembered an argument between two enemies turned best friends, another kiss, this time much less stolen and much more passionate than the first and then the night spent together between the sheets with all the passion and grace two teenaged virgins were capable of. And then, the mess made of their goodbye.

Arthur.

What's in a name? What _is _in a name good sir William? This is a good question, since that which we call a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet…but _Arthur. _To Francis, this name held so many memories both good and bad, and also a feeling, a mysterious stirring deep in his heart. Arthur. This was when he noticed those green eyes glaring in his direction did he realize he'd been staring. Quickly he averted his gaze and tried to bring himself back into the conversation with his friends.

"Liz thinks it's a good idea for Ludwig to call him something other than "Roderich" and I don't like the direction it's going," Gilbert said finishing off his beer.

"Amigo that's terrible!" Antonio added his face full of concern for his friend.

"I tell ya Fran you're lucky you don't have to share your kid," Gilbert said, clearly to Antonio's surprise as he shot a look toward the German with an exasperated, "Gil!"

Francis merely picked up his glass and took a sip before replying with, "I supposed that's one way of looking at things," willing to leave it at that. Gilbert though one of his oldest and dearest friends was known for not always keeping track of what he was saying and rarely meant things the way they sounded. In his experience the best thing to do was to just let it go, he could eventually make up for it by way of apology or by making a fool of himself in some form or fashion, and judging by the amount of empty beer bottles at the table either was a possibility tonight.

"Ah, would you look at the eyebrows on that guy!?" Gilbert exclaimed pointing in the directions of the poor unfortunate soul he'd deemed to make fun of.

"Dios mio amigo, a little louder and he might hear you!"

"What he looking at?"

"Probably you, you're the one pointing and making comments about his eyebrows!"

"No he's looking at…ah-hah!"

Francis up until that point had been occupying himself with the contents of his wine glass, knowing exactly who Gilbert was looking at. He looked up to find both of his friends eyes locked on him. "What?"

"Fran I know you probably won't because you're into that kind of thing but, I think you have an admirer," Gilbert said leaning over toward his friend as though it was some kind of secret.

Francis glanced quickly in the direction Gilbert was pointing and sure enough the owner of those green, green eyes was still glaring at him that is of course until he noticed Francis watching him again. The man blushed furiously and quickly averted his gaze. Francis chuckled inwardly, "A bit shy for my taste, don't you think?"

"Since when did that matter to you?"

"Ah, he look kind of familiar don't you think amigo?"

'_Yeah I know…' _Francis wanted to say but didn't. Antonio might've recognized Arthur but didn't remember him and more importantly, he didn't know about them, no one did really. By the time anything other than friendship blossomed between them, Arthur was moving away, and there was nothing to tell anymore. Not to mention it wasn't long after that Francis had his parent's divorce to deal with and then moving himself. That all seemed so long ago…so very long ago. Eleven years and it was indeed so very, very long ago.

For the last time Francis let his gaze wander back to the spot occupied by messy blonde hair and green eyes only to find it empty. Slightly disappointed, he returned to his drink and his friends for a few more hours before heading home.

* * *

Arthur Kirkland was a very unhappy man. Twenty-six years old, divorced, friendless, and drunk. He was not drunk enough to miss the German accent making jabs at his eyebrows, but he was drunk enough to see what or rather _who_ he was seeing. After ten minutes having a staring contest with the man across the room, realization hit him and the alcohol in his system gave him the urge to stand up and go over saying, "Francis Bonnefoy as I live and breathe!" But he still wasn't quite drunk enough for making a fool of himself. Instead he resigned himself to his scotch and allowed himself to watch as the blonde man across the way returned his attention to his friends.

Francis Bonnefoy as he lived and breathed, Arthur couldn't believe it. He'd been sure that Francis of all people would have left this place, but no, here he was all blonde-haired and blue-eyed, smartly dressed and…well, he looked good. He looked damn good. Which was more than Arthur could say for his self. He'd stopped caring after he'd divorced Elizabeth, four years ago. Since then he'd thrown himself into his work, eventually earning himself a new job as editor at a paper far, far away from England. This new job brought him back to the place he'd spent the better part of his childhood. He took it blindly, not even a second thought about it. That was two years ago. Tonight he'd decided to forgo his usual nighttime routine of whatever he could scrounge up and a night curled up in a blanket on the sofa staring blankly at the telly and found a bar nearby. This of course was out of sheer (loneliness) boredom.

"_What's he looking at…ah-hah!"_

"_I think you have an admirer!"_

The heat rose up in his cheeks when he saw Francis, once again, looking at him. Eyes as blue as the sea…he wondered vaguely if the look in them was as soft as it used to be…if they lit up with the spark of inspiration when he was about to do something stupid. He wondered if his hair still smelt like lilies or if his voice still got higher when he was excited about something. No! No! This was stupid! That was eleven years ago, there was no way they could just pick up where they left off, right? Right. It was stupid and impossible and Arthur was just being idealistic again. He would finish his drink and leave and that would be that.

* * *

"Idiot! You're such and idiot! This isn't a hard decision to make, you either go back into that bar and talk to the man or you go home!" Arthur said to no one but himself on his sixth circuit trip between his apartment and the bar where he saw Francis. That was when he looked up and saw a familiar figure walking toward a cab. Tall and lean, perfectly mussed up blonde hair, Francis. That was it. That was all it took for Arthur to pluck up and march straight to him. Once he was close he reached up to tap him on the shoulder. The other man turned to face him and Arthur spoke, "Francis Bonnefoy as I live and breathe."

"Arthur…" was all Francis could manage before Arthur's lips were on his own and he was kissing back. His arms came up and around the Brit and then they were against a wall. How many minutes had passed...five…ten? Maybe more.

"Your place or mine?" Arthur asked softly once they pulled back for air.

Francis hesitated as if thinking something over, and then replied, "Yours is probably closer."

The next morning Arthur awoke to find his self in very much the same position he had all those years ago. A little bit sore, oddly content and alone. Arthur had no clue as to when it was he left, but Francis was gone. He might've been persuaded to believe it was all a dream if it weren't for the note he found on his bedside table.

'_Sorry I didn't wake you, _

_but I do remember how heavy a sleeper you are._

_It wouldn't have done me any good to try._

_It was nice to see you, and I would really like to see you again sometime,_

_And maybe actually catch up with each other._

_-Francis'_

A note with a phone number at the bottom, they really were picking up where they left off. Arthur allowed himself a 'sappy' grin at the thought.


End file.
